The next two weeks passed in a blur of sweat, bruises, and relentless practice. The vorbear, to Roland’s surprise, returned the very next morning, pacing just beyond the clearing as if awaiting another bout. Celeste had been delighted.

“Told you it loves the fight,” she’d said, her grin infectious. “Once they get a taste of real battle, creatures from Pyralith can't resist.”

The vorbear—whom Celeste had started calling Grizzle—proved to be an unyielding opponent. Day after day, Roland and Celeste sparred with the creature. Grizzle's cunning forced them to adapt, to work together. The first few days had been a mess of mistimed attacks and near-disastrous collisions, but gradually, they found a rhythm.

Roland spent much of that time refining his use of soul gaze. He quickly discovered it wasn’t a perfect art. When Grizzle was calm and in control, its intentions were as clear as reading tracks in fresh snow. A twitch of the muscles paired with a subtle shift in its soul’s aura revealed whether it would lunge, feint, or circle for an opening.

But when pushed, when the creature was wounded or enraged, its intent blurred. Instinct replaced thought, making its actions harder to predict. Still, Roland learned to identify patterns even then. The build-up of tension in its limbs, the quick flicker of its soul before an impulsive strike—tiny clues that gave him just enough warning to react.

“You’re getting better,” Celeste said one evening after practice. She tossed him a waterskin, her own face streaked with dirt and sweat. “Less hesitation. More trust.”

Roland caught the waterskin and took a long drink. “It’s weird. It’s like… listening to a second language I didn’t know I spoke.”

She smiled. “That’s what it feels like to connect to your gift. The more you listen, the clearer it becomes.”

Their teamwork improved alongside Roland’s abilities. The days of tripping over each other and mistiming strikes faded. They weren't flawless yet—Celeste occasionally darted in too fast, and Roland still hesitated when relying on her buffs—but they could hold the line without stepping on each other's toes.

The nights brought quieter moments. They shared stories around the fire—Celeste recounting tales of the old Veil Wars, Roland talking about simpler times training under Sir Geld. His new reality was ever-present, yet a few hours of nightly reprieve made it endurable and almost enjoyable.

On the fifteenth morning, Celeste clapped her hands together as they finished their morning meal. “Alright. Time to stop playing.”

Roland raised an eyebrow. “Grizzle might disagree.”

“Grizzle’s had his fun.” She stood and gestured toward the distant horizon, where mountains loomed like jagged teeth. “We've trained enough. We're ready for a real mission.”

Roland wiped his hands on his tunic. “What kind of mission?”

“There’s a minor gate about a week's travel from here.” Celeste's tone shifted, growing more serious. “Mortalis forces have been slipping through it for months. Small raiding parties mostly, but it’s only a matter of time before something stronger finds its way through.”

Roland straightened. “So we’re going to close it.”

She nodded. “Exactly. It's not as dangerous as the main gates, but if we can close this one, it’ll slow them down.”

“Doesn't sound minor if Mortalis are still using it.”

“Minor compared to the major gates. But don't get cocky—closing it will still be dangerous. Mortalis forces guard these entrances like starving wolves protect a carcass. But it’s unlikely the Mortalis Veil Keepers are guarding this one. Most likely just some foot soldiers”

Roland glanced toward Grizzle, who was currently sprawled at the edge of the clearing, eyes half-lidded but ears twitching toward their conversation. “Are we bringing him along?”

“No, he wouldn’t be very stealthy,” Celeste said with a laugh. “We’d be found out immediately if he came.”

Roland grinned despite the nervous knot tightening in his stomach. The prospect of walking into enemy territory was daunting, but they’d come far in the last two weeks. He wasn’t the same knight who tripped over his partner’s feet while trying to swing a sword.

Celeste packed efficiently, gathering supplies and checking their equipment with the precision of someone who’d travelled these dangerous paths before. Roland followed her lead, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over him.

By mid-morning, they stood at the edge of the temple grounds, the mountains calling in the distance.

“You ready?” Celeste asked.

Roland adjusted the strap of his pack and exhaled slowly. “Yes... I think so.”

Celeste gave him a nod. “Then let’s go close a gate.” They waved goodbye to Fang who had to stay and watch the gate and headed out for their first joint journey.

The journey to the gate stretched across quiet days and long nights beneath a vast, star-filled sky. The uneventful nature of their trek gave them time to talk, to learn, and to better understand each other.

They followed narrow forest paths, crossed shallow streams, and climbed rocky inclines that left their muscles aching. Fang’s absence felt strange at first—no steady thud of colossal footsteps, no reassuring presence lurking in the background. But the solitude forced them to rely on one another more deeply.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Roland turned to Celeste. “So... the Veil. I get that it connects worlds, but I still don’t fully understand how closing a gate works. If we close one, can't they just... open it again?”

Celeste smiled faintly. “Not easily. When we lockdown a gate from this side, it’s sealed. Locked. The connection between this point and the other side breaks, like snapping a thread. If the Mortalis want it reopened, they have to either re-stabilize the connection or wait for a new passage to form naturally.”

Roland frowned. “Wait for it to form? The Veil just... makes random connections?”

“Yes, and no.” Celeste poked the fire with a stick, sending a shower of sparks into the night air. “The Veil is like an immense root system. Connections between worlds form, shift, and sometimes wither. Some connections are stable and permanent but others are fragile, temporary.”

“So if we close a gate here, they will just wait until another forms?”

She shrugged. “In theory. But it's not that simple. New gates are unpredictable. There are hundreds of smaller, weaker connections, but finding them is a nightmare for both sides. And maintaining them? Even worse.”

Roland stared into the flames. “Then closing this gate really will make a difference.”

“It will.” Celeste’s voice softened. “And it’ll buy time. Time for us to figure out the next step.”

They pressed on through forests thick with mist and hills crowned with jagged rocks. Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, Celeste stopped at the edge of a ridge and pointed downward. “There,” she whispered.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Roland crouched beside her and followed her gaze. Nestled in a shallow valley was the gate—a dark, swirling rift framed by twisted stone and glowing with faint, silver threads. It stood no taller than a man and was just wide enough for a single person to pass through at a time.

Around it, the Mortalis camp sprawled in a half-hearted attempt at fortification. Two tents flanked the gate, weathered and sagging with neglect. A small wagon stood nearby, its wheels half-buried in mud. No more than five figures moved about the camp, their armor dull and mismatched.

“Not exactly a fortress,” Roland murmured.

The ridge gave them a clear view of the camp below. The gate pulsed with a faint, silvery glow, like a wound in the fabric of the world. Around it, five Mortalis soldiers shuffled through the mud, their movements slow and mechanical. Their armor was tarnished, their weapons worn—but something about them made Roland’s skin crawl. He narrowed his eyes and let his gift stir. Souls flickered beneath the surface of those twisted forms, but the light was dim and... wrong.

“There’s no Keeper,” Celeste said, her voice low with surprise. “And... no sentries.”

Roland shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Those aren’t normal soldiers.” He focused harder, his gift peeling back the veil of flesh to glimpse the souls beneath. A sickly, oily presence coiled around them like a parasite, clinging and festering. The sensation triggered an instinctive revulsion deep in his core. He didn’t know exactly what the corruption was, but every instinct screamed that it didn’t belong.

Celeste’s expression hardened. Her eyes followed his gaze to the shambling figures below. “They’re puppets now,” she said, voice cold with resolve. “That sickness hollowed them out long ago. Don’t waste guilt on what we’re about to do.”

A deep growl echoed through the clearing as one soldier raised its head, hollow eyes locking onto their position. Its mouth twisted into a snarl.

“No more stealth,” Roland muttered, drawing his sword. “They know we’re here.”

The soldier let out a guttural roar and charged. The others followed, feet squelching through mud, armor clanking in eerie unison.

“Here we go!” Celeste called.

The corrupted soldier lunged, and Roland met it with a resounding crash of steel. Their swords locked, the shriek of metal splitting the air. The creature pushed with inhuman strength, its rotting sinews straining against Roland’s steady grip. The knight adjusted his footing, let the momentum carry them forward, then twisted sharply. The corrupted stumbled, off-balance, and Roland drove his sword through its chest.

The soldier didn’t fall. It snarled, eyes void of humanity, and swung a rusted axe with reckless force. Roland ducked, feeling the wind of the strike pass over his head. He yanked his blade free, sidestepped, and slashed across the creature’s neck. Black-red ichor spattered the ground as the body collapsed in a twitching heap.

“Roland! Left!” Celeste's voice rang out from behind him.

He turned just in time to see two more soldiers advancing. Their movements were jerky but fast, their soulless eyes locked on him. He braced for impact when Celeste’s voice rose in a sharp, commanding prayer:

"Sap of root, venom’s sting,

Weave through veins with pain to bring."

A greenish mist coiled from her outstretched hand, streaking through the air to strike the nearest soldier. The creature faltered mid-stride, its joints stiffening as the poison spread. Its growl turned to a choked hiss.

Roland took the opening. He surged forward, sword raised. The first soldier barely had time to react before his blade cleaved into its shoulder. The corrupted staggered, and Roland followed with a brutal kick to its knee. Bone cracked. The soldier crumpled, and his sword pierced its skull with a wet crunch.

The second soldier pressed toward Celeste, wielding a jagged spear. She ducked the thrust, her movements fluid, and whispered another prayer:

"Shield of leaf, firm as stone,

Let no strike break flesh or bone."

A faint shimmer wrapped around her, and when the spear struck again, it glanced off an invisible barrier. She slid beneath the soldier's guard and drove a dagger into its leg.

“Now, Roland!” she shouted.

He charged, soul gaze flaring. The soldier twisted to face him, and he saw its next move a second before it acted. It would step right, feint high, then stab low. He anticipated perfectly. His sword met the creature's weapon mid-lunge, then plunged into its chest.

The creature spasmed, ichor bubbling from its mouth as its soul pulsed faintly against the corruption.

The air thickened behind him.

Celeste’s voice sharpened: "Breath of rot, nature’s blight,

Steal their strength, drain their might."

A sickly yellow mist coiled around the remaining soldier, which slowed as though trapped in molasses. Its grip weakened, and Roland seized the opportunity.

The last soldier lunged at Celeste with a broken sword. She sidestepped, but her boot slipped in the mud. Roland moved without thinking, slamming his shoulder into the attacker. The impact sent it stumbling backward.

Celeste, regaining her balance, flipped the dagger in her hand and hurled it. The blade embedded itself in the soldier's heart. It let out a strangled gurgle and collapsed.

Silence fell, broken only by their laboured breathing. The stench of corruption hung thick in the air.

Roland knelt beside one of the fallen. The soldier’s soul, faint and fractured, lingered above the broken body. It drifted like mist, awaiting guidance. He placed a hand on the chestplate and whispered the familiar words:

"Mortana, gentle guide of the last breath,

Lead this soul beyond pain and death.

Let it cross where shadows part,

To find peace in the Mother's heart."

The soul stirred and began to move.

“Stop!” Celeste’s hand gripped his wrist.

Roland froze. “What? I’m helping them pass.”

Celeste shook her head, her eyes sharp. “You’re not supposed to guide them yet. You need to cleanse them first.”

“Cleanse?” Roland’s heart raced. “I... didn’t know that was possible.”

“Of course it is. Corruption clings to the soul, even in death. If you only guide it through back into the cycle, it might carry that corruption with it.”

He stared at the ghostly presence hovering over the body. “How do I do it?”

Celeste’s jaw tightened. “I know the prayer, but I can’t cast it. Only Deathborn can.”

Roland swallowed hard. “Tell me.”

She squeezed his wrist, then spoke, her voice solemn:

"Mortana, keeper of life’s end,

To this soul, your mercy send.

Burn the shadow, cleanse the stain,

So peace may rise, unchained from pain."

Roland repeated the words. Divine energy surged through him like ice cracking beneath pressure. The soldier’s soul writhed, the corruption igniting in black, crackling flames. The dark taint burned away, leaving a pale, serene light that drifted into the Veil.

Roland gasped as the power ebbed. He felt... stronger. Lighter.

Celeste noticed his reaction. “Felt that, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “What was that?”

“A divine payment.” She smiled faintly. “You’re using your gift the way Mortana intended. Align your actions with your god’s domain, and you'll be rewarded. Just a little at first. But it adds up.”

Roland looked at his hands, still tingling with the aftershock of the cleansing prayer. The battle had been brutal, but the real fight was only beginning. He continued to cleanse and release the souls. Each time receiving a small almost imperceivable reward.

Celeste wiped her daggers clean on a scrap of cloth and turned toward the gate. It pulsed, steady and relentless. The swirling silver strands within its dark frame seemed to shimmer more urgently now, as though it sensed what was coming.

“It’s time,” she said softly.

Roland nodded and stepped beside her. The gate loomed before them, a rift carved into reality. His grip tightened around his sword hilt before he let it go and placed his hand on the cold, smooth stone frame.

Celeste mirrored his movements, her eyes locked on the swirling Veil energy. “We do this together,” she said. “One prayer. Two voices.”

Celeste’s voice broke the silence, her tone steady and clear:

"Mother of roots, keeper of grace,

Seal this wound in time and space.

By pact of life, by ancient creed,

We close this gate—fulfill the need."

Roland joined her, their voices blending:

"Guardian of bark, eternal guide,

Let this passage now subside.

By mortal will and sacred plea,

Seal the path; so let it be."

The gate shuddered. The silver strands twisted violently, the Veil itself recoiling from their combined intent. The stone frame cracked, deep veins of green and gold light running along its surface. And then he felt it: two vast presences stirring in response to their prayer.

The first presence was ancient, nurturing yet unyielding. It resonated with Celeste’s aura, the energy swirling through her like sap coursing through a tree’s veins. The second presence was colder, more grounded, yet crackling with restrained potential. It connected with Roland, latching onto his soul as though recognising a distant kinship.

The roots around the gate trembled. The Veil strands unravelled, collapsing inward. The stone groaned and then shattered with a sharp, deafening crack. The gate imploded, sucking in the remaining energy until nothing remained but a faint scorch on the ground.

Roland staggered backward, breathless. His heart pounded, every muscle trembling. And yet, beneath the exhaustion, there was... more. A strength that hadn't been there before.

He turned to Celeste, who was also leaning heavily against a tree, cheeks flushed with exertion. “Did you feel that?”

She gave a weak smile. “Yeah. Payment.”

“Payment?”

She nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. “We upheld our Oath so received a divine payment from the veil.”

Roland flexed his hands. His limbs still ached from the fight, but beneath the fatigue lay a core of new strength. He could feel the energy humming faintly within him, like a chord struck on a harp, its resonance lingering long after the sound itself had faded.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” he said softly.

Celeste chuckled, though it came out more as a breathless rasp. “Not many do. And even fewer ever get to experience it. The gods don’t hand out power lightly. It is the secret to the Veil Keepers strength”

He knelt by the scorched ground where the gate had stood. The energy here had vanished completely. The tether to the Mortalis realm was gone, its corruption severed.

“We did it,” he murmured.

“Yes, we did.” Celeste stepped beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “One gate down. A thousand more to go.”